Settlement
by Skarr
Summary: Dark Elf into story. Bit of a twist at the end. My first story


The elves marched through the pine woods, the Dark Riders trotting ahead in the gloom, horses snorting in the damp, still air. In the middle of the band rode a unit of Clod One knights, their brutal mounts pacing on. Mounted in the middle of the knights was the band's leader. He was dressed in dull black armour, covering all of him, and a long jagged lance was holstered by the saddle. A shield hung on the left side, counterbalancing the lance; and it was painted with blood red runes surrounding a rearing, horned dragon of the same colour. A long sabre was belted in its sheath across his armoured back.  
  
As the chain mail on the crossbow-elves behind him chinked, he removed his helm, and shook out his jet-black hair. It was long, in the manner of the Drutchii. He turned to the knight beside him, who carried a tall furled banner.  
"How much further do you suppose it is until we reach the settlement? We must be nearly there now." His voice was high, sneering, and irritating, but there was an edge to it.  
"It is not far now, Lord Durath. We have nearly reached the settlement.  
  
Durath replaced his helm, and waved a hand at the knights to halt. The Cold Ones gradually stopped one by one, and the rest of the army halted. They were approaching the settlement now, they had reached a small clearing and smoke could be seen rising close ahead. The elves knew not to make any noise as Durath gestured to several units of infantry to follow him. He then pointed at the crossbow bearing unit and the Dark Riders, and made a circling motion with one hand. He pulled on the reins with his other hand, and kicked his heels to make his sluggish mount move. He trotted over to a decorated palanquin in the rear of the band, which was carried by robed acolytes.  
  
The aged female elf sitting regally in it looked down at him,  
"Have we arrived yet?"  
"Yes, my Lady. I think that it would be a good idea if you left the palanquin here and walked from now on."  
"Very well." Durath knew that whilst they shared the same noble rank, the lady was very much superior to him. He unholstered his lance, and gripped it tight to his arm. And advanced.  
  
The Dark riders swept through the settlement, the legs of their steeds pumping frantically as the horns and bugles of the various Dark Elf units echoed through the wood. They hurled burning brands at the dwellings as the startled and confused inhabitants of the settlement stumbled out. Shouts and yells came from them as they attempted to get formed into units. Few arrows followed the Dark Riders as they fled back to the woods. The inhabitants managed to get a good number of shafts into the woods when the Drutchii returned fire. A hail of bolts scythed through the lightly armoured defenders. Durath lowered his lance, pendant hanging in the still air, and ordered his standard bearer to unfurl the banner.  
  
Their mounts aroused by the tang of fresh blood on the banner, the knights surged forwards, arrows clanging off their armour, and they hit the defenders. The Cold Ones became frenzied in combat, biting off heads and limbs, snapping spear hafts and ripping shields from the owners hands with their powerful claws. Durath smashed his lance through two defenders, pinning them to a broken, scorched beam. He laughed cruelly and drew his sabre from its sheath on his back, hacking at those thrusting up at him, hewing and killing them, invulnerable in his armour. Blood splashed across him time after time. He laughed again. He must remember to save a few, he thought. We'll need slaves.  
  
The battle was over, and Durath was bowed low in front of the altar as the sorceress-priestess spoke in a shrieking voice, raising the knife in her hand.  
'And with this sacrifice, I reconsecrate this shrine to You, Khaine, with this blood of the one who defiled it, this altar is cleansed. Mesha heilas Khaine, erum detron Khaine!' Dulath grinned as the orc's corpse was lifted from the altar as the next heavily chained green-skin was dragged forwards. He glanced round at the shrine, crude orc glyphs scrubbed off or plastered over in the painter's blood. He looked at the former Dark Elven village, already looted when they had attacked. Maybe this would discourage further attacks, he thought. He smiled as the screams of the sacrificial victim rang out. The priestesses could make orcs scream in pain. He hoped the orcs wouldn't be discouraged. More sacrifices were always pleasing to Khaine  



End file.
